Child Play
by Surrendered to Christ
Summary: Remember when Joey made that deal with God in TOW They All Turn Thirty? Well, it actually came true. And now the gang's got a three year old Joey on its hands.
1. The Great Transformation

Here's my first Friends fic, a plot bunny that hopped in and went out of control. Indulge me, please?

Set in season seven, after the proposal, after "TOW they all turn thirty," but before Chandler and Monica's wedding.

I don't own Friends, or any of its characters.

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_**Chapter One**_

_"The Great Transformation"_

Chandler strolled casually through the door into apartment 19, the notion of knocking never even entering his mind. If he'd bothered to stop and think, he'd have discovered that he couldn't even remember the last time he'd actually taken time and knocked before entering this apartment. To walk across the hall from apartment 20 to enter 19 was as natural to him as it was for the sun to rise in the east.

One look inside told him Joey was not yet up. There were no sounds from the bathroom, and the man had yet to wander across the hall for breakfast. It wasn't exactly surprising that Joey hadn't awoken; he had a tendency to sleep straight till noon if no one disturbed him.

Chandler walked into his friend's bedroom, not bothering to knock there either. It would certainly not be the first time he walked in on Joey sleeping. "Hey Joe, get up or we're going to celebrate your birthday without you," he drawled wryly, shoving the door open with an echoing _bang!_

There was no response – no grunt of annoyance, not muffled "go 'way", not even a pillow thrown in his direction. For the first time, Chandler noticed that something was missing from the room.

Namely, the very person he was looking for.

Joey had definitely gotten into bed the night before, because the covers were in disarray, crumpled and half on the floor. But he didn't need to check to confirm that Joey wasn't under those covers – an empty bed is an empty bed.He frowned in confusion, surprised by his miscalculation. If Joey wasn't here, then where –

The covers rustled, and he jumped back in shock, his hand automatically shooting out to snatch the nearest thing to protect himself – in this case, a big foam finger from some long-forgotten hockey game. He paused, half crouched in defensive mode, straining to hear over his own labored breathing.

The covers rustled again.

He tensed. Then slowly, as though approaching a wild alien that might jump out and suffocate him with its tentacles, Chandler inched forward, holding the foam finger like a sword. He craned his neck, trying to determine what exactly was moving. Unless…dear god, unless it was the covers themselves that were alive –!

There was a sudden burst of activity on the bed, and Chandler dove to the floor with a rather girlish "Gyaa!" shielding himself with the foam finger he still held, clutched in his fist so hard that his knuckles turned white. He fought the urge to bolt from the room like the hounds of hell were on his heels. The covers-monster was coming after him, he was sure of it. It would reach out with those fluffy, cotton tendrils, and trap him like a ten-foot boa would trap a mouse, then proceed to squeeze the life out of him before digesting him slowly.

"Hello?"

Someone was speaking, he realized as the sounded somehow penetrated his panic-fogged brain. He blinked. Funny, he didn't think that monsters could talk. Or that they would have such high voices and sound like a teletubbie on helium.

"Hello?"

And _there_ was the voice again. Maybe he should answer. He certainly didn't want to upset it. That would be a Very Bad Thing. "Hello?" he ventured back timidly, peeping up over his foam finger.

"Hello," the voice sounded again. It didn't sound any more hostile than a hummingbird. "Where are you?"

"If I tell you, will you promise not to eat me?" Chandler shot back, miffed that he'd been all worked up over a monster that didn't eat people and sounded like it was a three-year-old child.

Oh wait a minute…there was a chance that it could be an _actual_ human child…

He stood up. There, sitting in the middle of the bed, dwarfed up the full-size mattress and a t-shirt several dozen sizes too big and peering up at him curiously, was a little boy.

He was ridiculously cute, with wide brown eyes, set in a round, cherubic face, partially hidden by dark bangs that flopped over his forehead. His messy dark locks hung down in the back, curling up to the nape of his neck. His entire body was hidden by the t-shirt that looked like a circus tent on him, he was so tiny. Sleeve-covered arms clutched tightly at Joey's stuffed penguin, making for a comical sight as Hugsy was nearly as big as him. A picture of a little puppy in a basket suddenly flashed through Chandler's overloaded mind.

"Hello," the child piped up, for the fourth time. "Who are you?"

"C-ch-cha-Chandler. Chandler, my name, it's, it's Chandler. Who are _you?_" the man stuttered in the way only Chandler can.

The boy giggled, crawling out on top of the sheets spread around him, still holding Hugsy by the wing. It was easy to see how Chandler had missed him at first; he was so small he barely made a bump bigger than a pillow. "I'm Joey!" the child announced, like it was the most important thing anyone could have ever wanted to know. "I'm three!" Three cubby little fingers were held up to emphasize his point.

Chandler was left gaping like a fist out of water. "J-Joey? No no no, you can't, you can't be Joey, I mean, you're, you're thirty years too young! I – I – look, kid, your last name, what is it? What's your last name?"

"Twibbiani," the boy answered promptly. It unexpectedly struck Chandler that he had the _cutest_ lisp. But that, of course, was _not_ what he should be focusing on!

"Chandwer?" little Joey piped, after a few moments of silence which Chandler had spent staring in shock at the little imp on the bed. "Chandwer, I hafta go."

"Go where?" the man asked blankly.

"I hafta _go!_" the child repeated urgently, his voice shooting up an octave.

"Go – oh!" Chandler jumped up, realizing what the boy meant. "Well, why didn't you say so? Come on, come on!"

xxx

"Okay. Okay. Okay, Joey?" Chandler knelt down on the floor to look the boy square in the eyes. "You're gonna stay here for a moment by yourself, alright? Now you just sit down here on this chair, and you don't move until I come back, got that? I'll be back real soon, just don't touch anything. Understand?"

"O-kay, Chandwer," the child chirped agreeably, climbing onto the barcalounger and curling up, before flashing him such a bright smile that he could practically feel his heart melting.

"Okay, good boy. Now just stay there." Chandler ruffled the child's hair, before dashing for the door and barreling across the hall.

"Monica!" he hollered, slamming the door behind him. "Monica!"

"Oh for – Chandler, what's the matter with you!" Phoebe yelled from where she had just spilled coffee all down her front. "This was a new shirt!"

"What, what? What's wrong? What spilled?" Monica yelped, appearing from her bedroom. Clearly she had been dressing; she had on a blouse over a pair of plaid pajama bottoms.

"There's been a slight – problem. There's been a problem, Monica!" Chandler said in a strained, cracking voice, gesticulating wildly at the front door. "Problem, problem! I can't handle problems, I'm Chandler!"

"_What's_ the problem, Chandler Bing? It had better be good, for you to scare me like that!" his fiancé shot back angrily, planting her hands on her hips.

"It _is_ good, it's beyond good! The problem, I mean, not the situation. But – oh, Monica! Problem!" Chandler wailed again.

"Listen, Bing, if you don't tell me what's going on _right now-!_"

"It's Joey. It's Joey, Joey – mmph!" he began gesturing wildly again, breaking off for lack of words suitable to describe his current predicament.

"What? What's wrong with Joey?" Phoebe snapped impatiently.

"He's – oh, he's turned back into a kid!"

Monica's eyebrows shot up half an inch. "Ex-_cuse_ me?" she asked incredulously, glaring at Chandler with disbelieving eyes. "Is this some kind of joke? Because if it is, it's certainly not funny, and you will _so_ pay for that in bed tonight –"

"It's not a joke!" Chandler protested. "Look, you can go across the hall and see for yourself. I'm telling you, he's turned back into a three-year-old kid! Why in hell would I lie about something so ridiculous? There are better, less impossible stories to make up!"

"Ooo, oh yea! Then Ross owes me ten dollars!"

Two pairs of eyes turned towards where Phoebe sitting, trying to wipe her shirt clean of coffee stains, and grinning from ear to ear like the Cheshire cat.

"Uh, _what?_" Monica inquired, holding up her hands. "Phoebe, what are you talking about?"

"What, don't you remember?" Seeing that her two friends were truly clueless, she let out a long-suffering sigh, and explained. "When Rachel turned thirty, don't you remember Joey saying that he'd made another deal with God, after his first deal fell through? He wanted to never grow old, remember? C'mon, remember? And then I made a bet with Ross, because he overheard me telling Joey it'd work the second time around because he was proving his faith by giving it a second go, and Ross just about jumped on me and started ranting about how turning back time was, y'know, _scientifically_ impossible. Well, guess we showed him!" She gave a fist pump, and went back to her coffee. "Oh, I _love_ being right!" If she noticed that her friends were staring at her mutedly like she'd grown an extra head, she certain didn't show it.

"And you think that's what's this is about? Joey's deal?"

"Well, it makes sense," Phoebe shrugged. "It's his thirty-first birthday, and he shrinks. What're the odds?" She cocked an eyebrow at them. "Hey, by the way, where _is_ Joey anyway?"

"I left him across the hall," Chandler muttered breathlessly. "I was this close to totally freaking out," he held his thumb and forefinger several millimeters apart to demonstrate, "and I didn't want him to be here to see it."

"You _left_ a three-year-old alone in an unlocked apartment? What the hell's wrong with you?" Phoebe gasped indignantly. "Is that what you're going to do with _your_ child? You – " she stopped talking abruptly when she noticed Monica, who was standing behind Chandler, frantically signaling her to be quiet.

"M-my child? MY child? Wait, what makes you think I'm gonna have a child. I'm not – oh my god, Monica, don't tell me you're pregnant? You're pregnant – oh dear Lord, you're pregnant!" Chandler choked, staring back and forth from Phoebe to his fiancé. "How did this – how'd this happen? This wasn't – "

"Chandler, Chandler, sweetie, calm down! I'm not pregnant, I'm not! Phoebe was just using an example," Monica soothed, trying to pacify the man, who looked as though he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "I'm not pregnant, okay? If I was, you'd be the first one I tell. Alright?"

"Okay. Okay. Okay, I'm fine. Just don't scare me like that!" Chandler moaned, burying his head in his palms.

"Hey, I hate to interrupt this sweet little moment, but there's still a child left unattended across the hall," Phoebe pointed out. "And Chandler's the only one he knows. Want to bring him over here before something bad happens?"

Monica nodded. "She's right, honey, go get him, and we'll feed him before figuring out what to do with him. Go." She shoved him out the door.

When he was gone, Phoebe set her mug down and leaned back on her chair to study Monica carefully. At length, she said, "Y'know, you might want to wait till your fiancé passes that emotional stage of puberty before going for any kids of your own. At this rate, he'll break before you hit one month."

Monica only smiled weakly. She knew very well Chandler's immense paranoia of responsibilities and commitment, and she'd long since convinced herself that when the time came, he'd be grown-up enough to move beyond. But there were times – times like these – that she really, really wondered if their relationship would ever be able to move past a certain point.

A moment later, the knob turned and Chandler came in, leading child-Joey by the hand. The boy still wore the too-big t-shirt that dragged on the ground behind him, picking up dust, and he still held Hugsy rather clumsily with one arm. His wide brown eyes swept around the apartment in unabashed fascination as he clung tightly to Chandler's fingers.

"Oh my GOD!" Phoebe shrieked, causing everyone to jump as she knocked over a chair in her haste to stand. "He's so CUTE!"

xxx

"Right. Now, I asked Ross to bring over some of Ben's old clothes. I haven't told him exactly what for yet, but he'll find out soon enough anyway. Everyone's accounted for, fed, and cleaned. So far so good. Am I missing anything?" Monica rubbed her palms together, looking at her boyfriend expectantly.

"No, general, only your gun and uniform," Chandler deadpanned, causing Monica to roll her eyes.

"Oh, I just cannot get over how cute you are!" Phoebe grinned delightedly, bouncing little Joey on her lap, causing the child to giggle. Monica had brushed his sleep-tousled hair, and found a rubber band to tie up the tail end of his t-shirt. Hugsy was still held securely in his lap – it seemed he was every bit as attached to the toy as the adult-Joey had been.

"I know! It sounds so traitorous, but I think he's even cuter than Ben was at this age!" Monica cooed, scooping the child up into her arms. "Just _look_ at you! You're just the cuwtest widdle thing I've ever seen, yes you _are!"_

"Hey! You're an aunt; you got to play with Ben all the time! It's MY turn!" Phoebe snapped, snatching Joey back, making the boy to laugh some more as he sailed through the air.

"Okay, he's not a football…" Chandler began. "Just remember that before you go in for an interception."

Monica had barely opened her mouth for a sharp comeback before she was cut off by the front door opening and Ross came in, an overflowing duffle bag in hand. "Well I brought the clothes you asked for," he groaned, dropping the bag with a dull _thud!_ "So now will you tell me why I had to haul this thing across the street and all the way here?"

"Oh, don't tell me you're _tired!_" Monica lilted teasingly. "Come on, big guy! You couldn't have walked more than a hundred steps!"

"Yes, even _I_ could have done that," Chandler interjected, "and there's no worse insult, I assure you."

"Hey, it's farther than it looks, alright?" Ross snarled, almost growling in his throat. "And that bag is REALLY heavy! Ben has two mothers, how much clothes do _you_ think he has?"

"Okay, Ross? You better calm down, because if you scare Joey any more, I'm going to have to hurt you," Phoebe stated with an icy calm, patting the abovementioned child comfortingly on the back. The boy had curled up against her the moment voices had started to rise, and was staring over her shoulder with wide, watery eyes.

"Joey? Where – hey, who's_ this_ widdle cutie?"

"How it is that people think me as gay but not you, I'll never know," Chandler grumbled, throwing up his hands in defeat.

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_Please leave a review!_


	2. Innocent's Trust

Wow, thank you for all your reviews! They really made my day

I hope this chapter lives up to expectations. I'm not really sure about it, but figured I might as well post it, and see how everything goes.

I do not own Friends.

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Chapter Two

"_Innocent's Trust"_

"Hey, Rach," Monica greeted her friend cheerfully, looking up briefly from where she was busy stuffing a chicken. "Hope you came prepared to eat. I cooked a little too much."

"No kidding," Rachel replied dryly, amusement dancing in her eyes as she took a good look at the kitchen. "Mon, honey, I know it's Joey's birthday, and food is probably the best gift you could give him, but…there is a fine line between sincerity, and insanity. I gotta say, right now, you're dancing on that line, stark naked." Her comment was undeniably justified, as there was literally food lined up on every inch of space in the kitchen. The table was practically groaning under the sheer weight of what was to be their dinner, and also breakfast, lunch, and snack for the next two days.

Monica blushed, pausing slightly to look around at her creations. "Oh come on, it's not that bad!" she defended, before faltering before Rachel's incredulous look. "Alright, well, originally I was just cooking enough for us." She shrugged, thumping the chicken down on a tray. "I made some gravy, and as it turned out there was way too much for the mashed potatoes, so I decided, what the heck? Why not make some ham while I'm at it? But then the ham was rather small, and I had some salmon in the freezer, so I decided to put that in. Then I realized that fish went well with rice, and rice went well with stir-fry, and _that _went well with –"

"Okay, okay, I get it! Stop!" Rachel threw up her hands in a desperate attempt to stop the woman before she went any farther. Once Monica got going, she had a tendency to spiral straight out of control, as their over-sized dinner was proof enough. Thankfully, the oven chose that moment to _ding!_ , providing all the distraction Rachel needed. By the time Monica turned around again, she was long gone.

Five steps took her across the hall, where she reached for the doorknob without even bothering to get her keys, knowing the door wouldn't be locked. "Joey, you home?" she called as she stepped into their shared apartment.

"Hey, Rach!" three different voices greeted her in unison, causing her to jump slightly, as she had not been expecting so much company. "What are you guys all doing here?" she asked when as she spotted Chandler and Ross sprawled on the floor, while Phoebe's head poked out over the back of the barcalounger. "Shouldn't you be over at Monica's scavenging food, or something?"

"Eh, she kicked us out," Chandler replied nonchalantly, shrugging as best he could while propped up on his elbows.

"Why, what'd you do?"

"Why do you automatically assume it was _me_?"

Rachel only rolled her eyes at him, while dropping her coat on a stool and tossing her purse on the counter. "Well, why are you all here like you have no lives?"

"We're playing dress-up!" Phoebe announced excitedly, with a grin bright enough to light up a city. For emphasis, she held up an old duffle bag messily stuffed with random articles of clothing – everything from a bandana to a toe ring that had somehow gotten entangled in a silk scarf.

"Hey!" Rachel yelped, spotting a familiar piece of clothe. "Is that my shawl in there?" She grabbed it and held it up for examination. Apparently it passed, because she proceeded to hug it possessively. "How'd you end up with that?"

"Yeah, Ross doesn't share his sister's gift for organization," Phoebe shrugged. "See, he claims this is a bag of Ben's clothes, but so far, we have found…let's see…" She disappeared from Rachel's sight temporarily as she reached down. "Yes, we have an old boxing glove…a hot pink t-shirt that says 'Hot dudes wear pink,'…a pair of funny glasses with a goldfish to put in the mouth…and…oh! And here's one of your old bras!"

"_What_?" Rachel yelped, face rapidly turning a shade of red that would put a tomato to shame. "My…Ross! Why the hell do you have my bra? And…ohh, that was one of my favorites, too! I thought I lost it! You are so indecent!" She snatched it from where Phoebe was dangling it in the air like a long-dead fish. "Do you have NO respect for my privacy?"

"Hey, it's not my fault you left it over at my place that one time!" Ross pointed out. "It's _your_ responsibility to remember your underwear in the morning –"

"Ross! Shut up!" Chandler hissed, whacking his friend upside the head. "Young ears, _young ears!_"

Rachel blinked, taken aback. "What? Pheebs, what the hell is he talking about?" she asked, completely baffled, looking back and forth from Chandler to Ross, who was now rubbing his head and muttering a string of what sounded a lot like…words that would be inappropriate to write down.

"Oh! Oh yeah, you haven't met him yet! Ooo, wait till you see–" she spun the barcalounger around in one fluid movement, and the next instant Rachel found herself looking at what had to be the cutest child she had ever seen.

The boy sited on Phoebe's lap, a comically confused expression on his baby-round face, was currently dressed in what had to be a miniaturized version of a "gangster." His gray sweatshirt completely hid his hands, and fell down to his knees. Baggy jeans pooled pass his too-big shoes, and had to be held up with a child-sized belt. His hood was, unsurprisingly, too big for him, and fell to a point where it half-hid his eyes, forcing him to tilt his whole face up to see what was going on. To top it all off, a sliver rectangle pendulant swung around his neck on a leather string.

"Oh my god…" Rachel gasped, pressing her hands to her heart. "Oh my god, oh my god…" she took him from Phoebe, lifting him up and holding him at an arm's length so that they were face-to-face. "Oh, my goodness, you are so cute!"

"I know!" Phoebe laughed, watching Rachel cuddle the boy like a stuffed animal.

"Lucky boy," Ross scowled enviously, glaring at the way Rachel held the child to her breast. "Wish I could turn back to a kid."

"You are a sick, sick man," Chandler replied in disbelief.

The child, however, did not seem to be appreciating the rather rough treatment so much. He squirmed, twisting around to stretch a small hand out in the direction of what he must have considered to be his savior. "Chandwer!" he wailed pitifully. "Chandwer, down! Want down!"

"Aww, do you not like Rachel hugging you?" Chandler crooned, desperately trying no to laugh at the way Rachel started to sputter indignantly. He picked himself up off the ground, and went over to scoop the boy into his arms. "There, there, is all right! I'll protect you."

"Ha!" Ross snorted, and Phoebe added, "Yeah, you wish," in agreement.

"Whaaat? I can protect him! I'm a grown man – don't you think I could protect him?"

Ross rolled his eyes. "Please. Remember that one time those two guys challenged us to a fight?" He chuckled. "I mean, I know I wasn't so tough…but dude, _you_ didn't even get to throw a punch!"

"Hey, that was _not_ my fault!" Chandler said icily, taking a step forward in what was supposed to be an intimidating manner. "I was not wearing the right shoes for the occasion, it was not my fault that I kept falling!"

"Seriously, don't kid yourself," Phoebe flapped a hand airily at him. "You wouldn't last a day on the street, Bing. Take it from me. You're lucky you scored Monica, and not, y'know, Rachel."

"Hey!" the insulted woman protested.

"Oh, sorry Rach, forgot you were there. Don't worry! I was just using an example. I meant, 'any woman _like_ Rachel,' not you specifically," her friend explained patiently.

"Oh, well _that_ makes it a lot better, thanks," was the sarcastic reply.

Chandler frowned, and turned the conversation back to himself before it shot off into some tangent. "Hey, I will let you know, I am a man, and I can fight when I need to, and when the time comes, I swear I will have the guts to pick up my sword –"

"Yeah, yours isn't long enough to scare a kitten," Ross smirked naughtily, quite proud of himself for having come up with such a snappy interjection.

"You take that back!"

"Chandwer?"

Chandler blinked, taken off guard at the sudden interruption, and looked down at its source. Blue eyes interlocked with liquid, chocolate-brown orbs, and he could only stand by and watch as all his anger fled from his mind, and he lost himself in that innocent gaze. "Chandwer, _I _think you can pwotect me!"

"You-you do?" the man stuttered in disbelief. "Really?"

"Rea-wy!" the boy grinned, hugging him.

For once, Chandler found himself at a loss for words. There were no terms into which he could put his feelings at hearing that simple statement, that childishly naïve declaration of faith. It was absolute confidence, a complete conviction such as he had never before in his memory given or received.

And suddenly, he was _sacred_. It was an unexpected fear, though, in hindsight, it really shouldn't have been, given he infamous personality. He was frightened by the fragile little life that he held in his arms. Frightened because the boy's faith in his guardian's perfection was so enormous that it was overwhelming.

He did not speak, because there was truly nothing he could say.

And so, he simply hugged the boy close in response.

_I could talk all day, and still my talk will only be just talk. _

_I wish…I really wish…that my faith in myself was even half as strong as that which you have placed upon me. That alone would allow me to do anything imaginable._

Xxxxx

"It's so strange to think that _that's_ Joey," Rachel mused, observing her miniaturized friend bemusedly. Said friend was currently settled on the couch, curled up around Hugsy and fast asleep under a blanket someone had grabbed from his room.

"Yeah," Monica agreed, leaning back in her chair. She, like everyone else, was almost half-asleep, drugged by a super-sized dinner. "But y'know, he doesn't really act all that different. It's just that now his personality matches his age."

"True that," Ross rolled his eyes. "Plus the fact that he's no longer able to clear half the table in one setting."

"Yeah, it's kinda weird that he wasn't able to finish even _one_ helping," Phoebe said, joining in their conversation. "And you notice how he's small for his age? I mean, the kid's three and I guessed him to be two. I'd never have pegged him to be the small type growing up."

Monica nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "That's true," she murmured. "You know how he's always saying that he weighed like sixteen pounds when he was born. But then again, he _is_ Italian. Even if he wasn't born big, he would certainly be eating enough to make up for that." Then she grinned, eyes lighting up like a child's on Christmas morning. "Which means that now, _I _get the job of putting some meat on him! Do you think he'll like pancakes or sandwiches for breakfast tomorrow?"

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Mon, this is Joey we're talking about. I think he'll eat just about anything if he's hungry enough, and he's a growing boy." Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group, before she continued, "What _I _want to know is, what are we going to do with him?"

Ross looked at her from where he had been busy trying to decide whether or not it would be worth the energy to get up and go to the bathroom. "What do you mean?"

"I _mean,_ what are we going to DO with him?" Rachel repeated herself exasperatedly. "We all have work, and it'd probably be a bad idea to leave a three-year-old home alone! And what're we going to tell his boss? That he can't make it in to work because he's lost twenty eight years of his life?"

They all looked at each other, each expecting someone else to speak up with some sort of brilliant solution to this obvious but somehow-overlooked dilemma. However, whether it be due to their exhausted state or some other factor, none had a sudden flash of inspiration. Not even a flame, or a tiny spark.

"Look, I feel as though I'm falling asleep sitting up," Ross groaned at last, when it became apparent that there wasn't going to be any sort of plausible ideas springing up. "How about we just all go home and sleep on this, alright? Maybe we'll figure something out when we're all actually able to process thoughts."

"Sounds good," his sister nodded, forcing herself out of her chair. "So where are we going to put him? Leave him here or put him in his room?"

And again, as if by default, they all turned to look at each other.

"Oh, for goodness' sake!" Rachel grumbled after a three-minute stretch of silence. "Just leave him here, he's settled in anyway."

"And we all know Rachel can sleep through the Apocalypse. She'll be next to no help if he decides to wake up in the middle of the night," Ross deadpanned, moving to get his coat.

"Hey, you take that back!" Rachel snapped, scowling. "That's totally not true, Geller! And at least I don't sound like a herd of elephants with nasal congestion when _I_ sleep!"

xxxxx

Someone was crying.

Someone was crying, and it was very loud.

Someone was crying, and he was trying to sleep.

Because the crying was very loud, his sleep was being disrupted.

In conclusion, whoever was crying had better stop before he was forced to get up and kill them.

Those were Chandler's thoughts, in chronological order, when he was rather rudely awakened in the middle of the night. He groaned, cracking open en eyelid. Through sleep-fogged eyes, he was able to make out the fact that it was dark, and nothing else. Nothing else mattered, because it being dark equaled it being night, and it being night equaled it being sleepy-sleepy time. He shut he eyes again and burrowed under the covers, hoping that the crying noises that filled the room were either part of his dream, or would simply stop and go away.

There was, of course, no such luck, and it soon became apparent that the crying wasn't going to stop itself.

And so, with no other option, he forced he eyes back open, and focused in the direction of his alarm clock. Two seconds later, a red blur solidified into three blinking numbers. 3:46.

_3:46_. It was three in the morning. Great. Just wonderful.

Beside him, the covers rustled, and a leg brushed past his own, causing an instinctive tingle to rush up his spine. Monica rolled over before groaning slightly and, without opening her eyes, muttered, "Chandler, shut up."

"It's not me!" he hissed in injured protest. There was a paused, before his still-awakening brain finally figured out what it might actually be. "I – I think it might be Joey."

"Well, tell him to shut up, and go back to his _own_ apartment to cry," Monica grumbled, drawing the covers over her head.

Another fifteen seconds later, his brain (which was speeding up) came up with the answer that Monica must not remember the events of the previous day. "Monica, I think it's the _little _Joey."

There was another pause before the sleepy reply came, muffled by the blankets. "Well, then go out there and get him to quiet down!"

"I don't want to!"

"You're _gonna_ want to, because you don't want to make _me_ want to!"

Chandler blinked. "What?" he asked in confusion, since that sentence was a bit too complex for him to be able to figure out at three a.m.

"Just go, you fool!" the disgruntled Monica snipped

Which brought him back to his first point. "No! I don't want to!"

"Why?" was the increasingly exasperated (and dangerous) woman's retort.

"Because! I…I'm scared, okay? Look, I was the first one to find him when he woke up last morning in a strange room, right? So that marked me as some sort of… I don't know, some sort of savior. And now, if I go out there, then he's _really_ going to start associating me with a reliable, responsible, omnipotent adult! Which I am not, and will never be!"

"Chandler, you idiot, NO one can ever be. And when he grows up, he's gonna know that. Just go and stop his crying! There are many people who would love to get adored by a kid like that!"

"So YOU go. You can handle the pressure. You don't get it, Monica, I don't want to be in the position where I…where his expectations get so high that I can't match them anymore." He looked down, grasping the covers tightly, trying to fight the onslaught of shame he felt as he spoke these words. "I just…I don't want to be given the chance to fail." Ross and Phoebe had been right. He was a sorry excuse for a man, a train-wreck of a disaster when it came to anything resembling commitment.

Monica could only sigh softly, easily picking up the pain in her fiancé's soft, shaky voice. "You know, if I didn't love you, I would slap you," she informed him bluntly. "One day, that boy out there crying is going to be your own. And one day, you'll be backed into a corner where your only choice would be to either climb up, or _give_ up."

She saw his shoulders drop. Saw as he cringed away from her words as though they were tongues of fire that burned him with every touch. And once again, doubt filled her heart. She wanted children. She wanted her children to have a wonderful father who would care for them through every trial, every dark valley, holding their hand past every shadow. And, not for the first time, she wondered if Chandler could ever be that father.

She spoke again, voicing exhaustion that was not merely the result of the ridiculous time. "Chandler, sweetie, I know this is going to be a very interesting discussion we will no doubt need to have one day. But right now is not the time. I'll go, but you owe me."

"Thanks," the man murmured, guilt gnawing at his heart as he watched his fiancé struggle out of bed and walk out the door.

A moment later, the crying dimmed down, though it did not cease completely.

Monica reappeared. "Chandler, honey, he had a nightmare. He wants you to go to him." Her tone was pleadingly, begging him to step up to answer the child's simple request.

Only it wasn't so simple. Not in Chandler's mind.

"Chandler's asleep. Chandler has work tomorrow, so please don't wake him," he begged hoarsely.

Monica didn't reply. Silently, she turn on her heels and walked back out.

She didn't come back for a good while. By the time Joey's wails and sniffles finally halted completely and she was able to crawl back into bed, dawn was only an hour away.

Tired as she was, she didn't notice that Chandler was still wide awake. Morning's first light would find him in a sleepless, emotionally-torn mess.

* * *

_The tone got pretty serious in the end, but I tried to weave some humor into the beginning. The rest of the story (and I promise, there WILL be a rest to this story) should, if all goes well, be a good balance between drama and humor._

_I'm sorry it took so long to update. But this fic is so stubborn! I finally realized (after the first five drafts) that I wasn't going to be able to spring off an all-humor story as I had intended this was going to be. I guess humor just isn't my forte – what I write usually ends up so dry that even if people catch the joke, it's not really funny. I do enjoy writing it, though, and so I'm going to do my best to incorporate it in this story._

_Hope you all liked it, and please leave a review! Even if it's just one word, or something like "I managed to get through the whole thing without falling asleep," I'd really appreciate it :)_


	3. Keepers

**__**

Chapter 3

_"Keepers" _

"G'morning," Rachel yawned, rubbing her eyes, as she meandered through the purple door into her old apartment. "What's for breakfast?"

"We've got pancakes, bread, eggs, and various parts of slaughtered pigs," Phoebe answered, eying the bacon, ham, and sausages distastefully. "Want some?"

"Oh yeah, after that _lovely_ and appetizing comment," Rachel replied dryly, thumping down on a chair. She pulled an empty plate forward, reaching for the pancakes with her other hand. "Where is everyone, anyway?" she added after noticing the unusually empty room. Normally, there were at least two people here at breakfast time.

Phoebe shrugged, taking a sip from her mug. "When I came in, Monica told me to help myself and then disappeared into her room and locked the door. So now they're just hogging Joey all to themselves." She glared at the closed bedroom door accusingly, mentally willing it to pop open and expose the atrocities that she _knew_ had to be going on in there.

Rachel paused. That certainly wasn't a comment she heard everyday, and the oddity of it caused her mind to suddenly flash back to yesterday...

"Oh my god," she gasped, dropping her fork with a clatter. "Oh my god, that _wasn't_ a dream!"

"No, it certainly wasn't!" Phoebe exclaimed joyously. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun!" she grinned, ecstatic and completely oblivious to Rachel's growing horror.

"No! No, it isn't going to be _fun_, Phoebe! Joey's turned back into a child, for crying out loud! _Now_ who's going to be my roommate? How are we going to take care of him? How are we going to explain him? Who's going to eat all the leftovers? _Who will play Drake Ramoray on 'Days of Our Lives'?" _

"Yeah, because _that's_ the biggest problem we'll have," Phoebe drawled wryly, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, that's a big problem! I mean – who the hell will save Camellia now? And, and who's going to help Stacy make up with Mitchell? And if Camellia dies, then how will William ever find his peace?" Rachel jumped up, pancakes completely forgotten. "And _who will stop __Crystal__ from killing her ex-husband's wife's sister who is actually her birth sister?" _

Phoebe avoided her eyes, clearly unnerved. "I – I don't know, Rache, I'm sure they'll all be fine..."

The bedroom door chose that moment to open, letting a grateful Phoebe jump up and hurry away from her momentarily distracted and undoubtedly crazy friend. "What's all the yelling about?" Monica inquired as she stepped out, holding a notebook in one hand.

She jumped back the next moment as Rachel let out a hair-raising screech. "It's all wrong! Camellia's dead, Mitchell ends up marrying a whore, and Crystal killed her sister! Argh!" She slumped back down, swamped with depression.

"Camellia dies? Wha – how'd you know that?" Monica gasped, flinging her notebook aside and running over. "Rache? Rache, how does she die?"

"Oooo, she dies because Drake Ramoray doesn't save her, you idiot, because Drake turned back into a little kid!" Rachel snapped, looking ready to bite her.

"Oh, damn!" Monica joined her pity party. "Poor William!"

Phoebe only shook her head in a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

Chandler emerged from the bedroom a moment later, dressed ready for work, briefcase held securely in one hand. "Honey, are you sure about this?" he asked slowly, skepticism apparent in his voice, and it became obvious what he was talking about a second later as Joey trotted out after him, clinging happily to his fingers. The boy was also dressed to go out, and sported a bright orange, too-big backpack on his back that bounced with every step he took.

"Oh, Monica!" Phoebe squealed upon seeing the boy. "I hate to admit it, but you're amazing!" Monica had taken charge of him half an hour ago (despite Phoebe's jealous protests), and, armed with Ross' duffel bag of clothes, had proceeded to dress him up like a little doll. Surprisingly enough, Joey had actually seemed to like it. That was probably the same reason he had survived living with seven sisters.

"I know!" Monica exclaimed in reply to Phoebe's comment, snapping out of her gloom, pleased that her friend approved. She gazed at her handiwork with pride. "Rachel, what do you think?"

"Huh? Oh, who cares, Camellia's – Oh my god, Monica, you're brilliant!" she interrupted herself when she actually caught sight of the boy. "He looks so cute!"

"We're gonna have to get used to this, aren't we?" Chandler muttered wearily. "You're a regular little chick magnet." At this comment, little Joey looked up at him and laughed. Not because he actually understanding the man's words, only because he was, as Chandler had found out by now, a naturally happy child who saw everything through a pair of metaphorical comedy-coated glasses.

"You two are going to have so much fun!" Monica gushed, beaming.

"Or not, I _don't_ think," Chandler grumbled in response, but had the sense to do it under his breath for fear for provoking his fiancé's wrath.

"Why, where are they going?" Phoebe asked, suddenly suspicious. "You're not gonna keep him from us, are you? He's not all yours!"

"No, no, Pheebs! But we've all got work today, so I thought Chandler could just take him along. I mean, a restaurant's not much of a place for a kid. Nor is a massage parlor," she added meaningfully, glaring at the blonde.

"_Damn _it."

"Phoebe!"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, what about me?" Rachel asked indignantly, gesturing to herself. "I can take him! Nothing wrong with a Ralph Lauren office building!"

"Well, Chandler called shotgun, so tough luck!" Monica growled, jabbing a finger at her, looking every bit like a ruffled tabby cat ready to pounce.

"That's so not fair! Why should _he_ get – "

"Ahh, ahh!" Monica yelled, tackling her and pinning her to the wall. "We got him first! Go, Chandler, go!"

"You know, I really don't like getting treated like your subordinate –"

"_GO, you sissy!_"

"Yes ma'am!" he squeaked, snatching Joey up into his arms and dashing out the door. "We're gone!"

"Bye-bye!" Joey called back happily as the two disappeared down the hall, leaving behind a triumphant Monica and her two very dismayed friends who wailed "Cheater!" in perfect unison.

Monica only smirked, releasing Rachel and standing up to brush herself off. "Yeah, well, _that's_ why you get boyfriends!"

"Monica, I hope you know that just because he spent a night here that does NOT mean he belongs to you!" Phoebe huffed, eyes blazing angrily, clearly ready to fight for her share of the little boy's time.

"I know, I know!" Monica admitted, throwing up her hands in a gesture of defeat. "It's just..." she trailed off, voice growing soft. "It's just...I want Chandler to have some time with him, you know? I mean...okay, last night? Last night, Joey woke up crying form a bad dream, and Chandler completely freaked out about going out to settle him down, and – " she broke off, at a loss for words, and stood wringing her hand helplessly, peering up at her friends, hoping rather naïvely that they would somehow be able to read her mind.

"...and you're worried about him acting like that for you own kids," Rachel finished after a seconds' pause.

"Yeah," she muttered, slumping down into Rachel's vacated chair.

"Oh, honey," Rachel murmured, giving her friend a hug. "I know you're worried, but...you just have to believe that he loves you enough, and he's gonna be able to be a big boy and handle it when the time comes."

"Yeah, Chandler's wishy-washy and, y'know, a bit floopy," Phoebe added. "But he does love you a lot. He can do this!"

"Well, that's what I keep telling myself!" Monica groaned. "But you should've seen him last night! He completely freaked! _Completely!_ And it's only Joey, not some – some tiny little infant who's actually his son!"

"It'll be okay, Mon," Rachel said comfortingly, patting her friend on the back. "It'll be fine! Look, maybe he was freaked out because…well, it's kinda freaky to have your best friend turn back into a kid. And besides, he loves Joey like a brother, and his son is gonna be…well, his _son_. That's…_special._ And you guys will have nine whole months of pregnancy to make him feel comfortable. Joey just kinda popped outta nowhere, y'know? It'll be fine. And you can borrow Joey for practice anytime you want."

"Well, not _any_time," Phoebe interjected hurriedly. "Quit talking about him like he's some toy that people can just come in and take!"

"Yeah, Pheebs, because you don't do that or anything..."

"Thanks, guys," Monica smiled gratefully. "I just have to keep believing in him, huh? It'll be fine. It's gotta be."

..._right?_

Xxxxx

"Good morning – Oh my god, Mr. Bing! You brought your son! He's so cute!"

"No! Nonono, I'm just babysitting!"

"Hey, Chandler! Whoa, you didn't tell me you knocked some girl up. She must'a been hot too. Kid didn't get those looks from you."

"He's not my son!"

"Mr. Bing, I didn't know you had children! He's adorable!"

"He's _not_ my son!"

"Hey Chandler! Brought your kid to show off, huh?"

"He's _not..." _

"Wow, Chandler! I didn't know your were married. He's so sweet...hi! Hi there, sweetie!"

"He's not..."

"Good morning, Mr. Bing! Brought your boy to see Daddy work?"

"..."

"Wow, Chandler, he's an absolute angel!"

"Yes, yes..."

"Hey, Chandler! Who's that cutie pie? Hi!...oh, hi! Hi! Ooh, I could just eat you up! What're you guys doing for lunch? Want to join me? My treat!"

"…yes, okay, fine! He's my kid."

Xxxxx

That same night, inside the living room and around the coffee table of 495 Grove St. apt 20, New York, NY 10001, a top-secret, very serious conference was currently progressing. Its participators numbered six, including three women, two men, and a little boy. At present, the rather loud, dark-haired woman was in the process of making her point.

"…so I say we just split him between the six of us."

To this suggestion the shorter of the two men replied with, "okay, he's not a _sandwich –"_. There had been more to that sentence, but here he was abruptly cut off by the same women who had last spoken: "Look, if we let anyone else know about this, he'd probably be taken in for genetic experiments. That or we'd all get locked up in some asylum while he's taken into protective custody. So let's just keep this to ourselves, alright?"

"So we'll just raise the kid and hope that this somehow wears off," Chandler deadpanned. "That's a _wonderful_ plan, Mon, because we're _all_ prepared for the responsibility parenthood, what with all the preparation we've done!"

"O-kay, funny man! Let's hear _your_ plan!"

"I say we give him to his parents. They raised him once, they can do it again."

"Chandler, I cannot believe you would do that to those poor old people looking for a comfortable retirement!"

"Shut up! You just want to keep him! And I'm telling you we _can't_, because we'd screw it up for sure. He's not, like, a stuffed animal, Monica, he has feelings!"

"And, y'know, he can also _hear_ you," Rachel muttered to herself, a bit put off by being left out.

"That's right, he can!" Phoebe broke in loudly, effectively ending the volley of arguments. "He's a living, breathing human being, and I say we ask _his_ advice!"

Chandler turned to stare at her incredulously. "He's THREE!"

He was, not for the first time in his life, completely ignored. "Joey!" Phoebe rounded on the boy, who had been sitting on the couch, following the argument like a tennis match, head turning back and forth, following the sounds rather than the words. As such, he had absolutely no idea what was going on. At the sudden sound of his name, he jumped slightly, then stared at Phoebe in bewilderment, all the while clutching his stuffed penguin close. "Joey, you decide. Do you want to stay here with us or go to some strange place where they will no doubt be very bad to you?"

Chandler's eyes widened dramatically, and he began jabbing a finger wildly at his friend. "Phoebe! Objection, she's messing with his head! She's messing with his head!" Already sick of his antics, Phoebe snatched his finger into a death grip. "Shut up, Bing, before I _kick your ass." _

"_Phoebe!"_ Ross hissed. "Will you _please_ remember that there's a three-year-old in the room?"

"Huh?" the boy asked, looking around shyly, aware that he had, for some unknown reason, suddenly become the center of attention.

"Joey, honey, would you like to stay here with us or go back to your parents?" Rachel asked gently, stepping around her arguing friend and bending down so she was eye-level with him. "Do you know who your parents are?"

"Parents?" brown eyes blinked. "I dunno…"

"You…don't know," Rachel repeated hesitantly. "Uh…" she trailed off, looking to her friends desperately for help.

"Don't you have a mommy, Joey?" Ross asked, sitting down next to him. "Or a daddy?"

"I…don't know…" the boy repeated uncertainly, tugging subconsciously at Hugsy's scarf for want of something to do with his hands.

None of them could come up with any sort of intelligent response, and so, as anybody who knew anything about this group could have predicted, they turned to look expectantly at each other.

Xxxxx

"I still don't understand how he has no memories of his family. I mean, it's not like he's forgotten his name or his age or anything. It doesn't make _any_ sense." This comment was accompanied by an expression that on the face of any child under the age of twelve would have been called a pout.

"Oh yeah, because the whole situation up to that point had been perfectly sensible," Ross replied sarcastically. "I mean, people regressing thirty years, that happens _every_ day! Oh, and look! I see winged pigs flying outside the window!"

"Shut up," Chandler scowled. "It's _my_ job to make snide remarks."

At that particular moment, Joey had been carried of by three delighted girls to go clothes-shopping. Once they had confirmed that he indeed had no recollection whatsoever of his family or past life, the girls had taken this advantage and brutally crushed Chandler's weak protests. The argument was brought up that even given to Gloria and Joseph Tribbiani the boy would still be among strangers, and, therefore, no better off. Riding this point, even Chandler had given in at last. And now he was sprawled on the couch, left with seemingly all the time in the world to contemplate exactly how this new development would affect the fragile equilibrium that he had managed to build in his life and relationship – the delicate state of homeostasis that he depended so much upon in order to avoid becoming insane.

"Ross?" Chandler spoke up after a moment of heavy silence, glancing up to where his friend had situated himself, half-laid down on the cushioned sofa next to him and flipping idly through a magazine.

"Yeah?"

It took a couple tries to unstick the words he needed to say from his throat, and even then they came out rusty. "When you first became a father...was it...hard?"

Ross sent him a sidelong glance, his hands pausing with a page half-turned. "Huh. Well, it was a little bit at first, you know, because...when I held that little baby in my arms, I really saw how _small_ he was. And I knew he'd be dependent on me, and that I was _responsible _for him, in everything. And that…that was huge, y'know? And that_ was _a bit scary. But I also loved him, Chandler. I mean, I was afraid of messing up, sure, but he's my son, and I wouldn't let anything get in the way of my loving him, no matter how scared I was." He smiled, a far-off look coming into his eyes. "There was just this moment when I just suddenly realized, 'I'm a _FATHER!_' and the meaning of it all just hit me. And sure, the responsibility was overwhelming, but it also felt so right. I guess...I guess I just thought that with as much love as I had, there wasn't any mistake I couldn't fix."

"Oh," Chandler muttered, staring at his hands. He had been doing a lot of thinking since last night. Good, hard thoughts. Thoughts about himself. About Monica. And about their future together. What he got out of it all…was no small bit unsettling. "You think...you think I could ever be like that?"

"Well, sure!" Ross reached over to clasp his friend on the shoulder, before drawing him into an one-arm embrace. " Chandler, I'm telling you, when you hold your baby in your arms, you just _know_ you love him enough to fix everything. And it's okay to be afraid. Only an idiot wouldn't be afraid. The trick is to control your fear, and use it to make yourself a better parent."

"Yeah," Chandler looked up, a tentative smile etched on his lips. "Yeah. I can do that! I can hold strong! I can commit. I love Monica so much. That love can fix everything."

..._right?_

Silence reigned in the room for five minutes more, before his reverie was abruptly interrupted by the violent opening of the front door. "We're back!" Phoebe's voice echoed throughout the room, and a moment later she appeared into Chandler's line of vision, with Monica and Rachel behind her. Joey bounced in between them, moving literally like he had springs attached to his feet.

"Oh, what the hell is all that?" Chandler gaped, staring at the countless, multi-colored bags the girls had brought in.

"Don't say it like that, they're all necessary!" Rachel said defensively. "Raising a child takes a lot, you know!"

"I'm going to miss you guys after they kick you out for not being able to pay rent," was Ross' only comment as he eyed the endless bags with disdain.

"Well you won't need to, because if we're going down then you're coming with us. You're springing for one-fifth of this, Geller, like we all are," Rachel replied, thumping her bags down on the coffee table.

"Keep on dreaming, Greene," Ross rolled his eyes.

"Pay up or get out, bro," Monica interjected, smacking him with a bag. "If you're in this, then you're _in_ this, no if's, and's, or but's."

"How is this necessary?" Chandler asked exasperatedly as he pulled a bright red lacy pair of panties out of one of Phoebe's bags.

"That's…for educating him on…the _importance_ and…variety of…underwear," Phoebe replied, making a heroic effort to fabricate a story out of thin air. "See, it's showing how many different types of underwear there are and how we can't discriminate between one type and another because of size, color, or…other stuff."

Both men glared at her, while Monica covered Joey's eyes and Rachel tried desperately not to laugh.

"Okay, fine! They were on sale! I was weak! But I'm not sorry; these babies will pay for themselves in no time." She snatched the garment back, and stuck it deliberately back into her bag. "And if you're good, Chandler, maybe I'll let Monica borrow them."

"Phoebe!" Ross groaned. "_Joey!" _

"Oh, it's not like he won't know about those two eventually, he lives right across the hall," she waved a hand dismissively and dug into another bag, before remerging with a child-sized pair of leather pants. "Now let's dress him up like a cowboy and take pictures!"

"And what'll _that_ educated him on?"

"The habits of women," Phoebe answered, completely straight-faced. "And they'll make great blackmail items when he turns back to an adult."

"Oh, so you think he'll definitely turn back?" Chandler asked, both hope and surprise filling his voice.

"Well, yeah. I mean, kids will grow," the blonde said matter-of-factly. "Maybe he'll even turn back sooner, I don't know. I mean, the deal must have worked two ways. So once he's fulfilled ...or maybe _not_ fulfilled... the terms of his agreement, he'd have to turn back, right?"

"Huh," Chandler muttered, looking thoughtful. "I never though about it like that...what do you suppose those terms _were?"_

"I don't know, but I'm really hoping they never come to pass. Anyway, Phoebe, I wanted to do a doctor first!" Rachel protested, looking through her own bags for the Halloween costume she had found on sale.

"Okay, we'll compromise. He can be a cowboy who ropes up bad guys _and_ heals the good guys!"

"Done!" Rachel lifted Joey up and carried him into the bedroom. "We're gonna have fun wid you, yes we are!" she crooned, cuddling the child who had, by now, gotten quite used to that type of treatment, and put up with it with a sort of dignified resignation. Phoebe scooped up her purchases and followed her, and Monica fell in a step behind, adding "Oh, and after that, we can make him be a chef!"

"Poor Joey," Ross remarked as the door banged shut.

"Why? Getting fawned by three girls? Must be his dream come true," Chandler pointed out.

"They're not fawning over him, they're…using him as a human doll. And lemme tell you, three girls with a closet full of garments is a…scary thing. It's like a force of nature – unstoppable."

The two looked at each other.

"We'll rescue him after an hour," Chandler resolved. "Any sooner and we might end up loosing an arm or two."

"Sounds good. I'll distract them, you grab him and run."

"To where?"

"I don't know. Good luck with that."

* * *

_I was really torn about whether or not to post this chapter...I spent a great deal of time on it, but it doesn't really add much to the plot, does it? It's more of an interlude than anything else. Anyway, we'll see how it goes, and all suggestions are welcome._

_(Oh and - I don't have a clue about soap operas. Really, I don't. Up until about a year ago, I couldn't tell the difference between soap operas and sitcoms. It's the result of learning english as a second language, and they don't teach that stuff in ESL class. So all that soap opera talk in the beginning is pure B.S. Please forgive me if I totally missed the mark!)_

_By the way, does anyone know exactly how Monica and Ross' last name is spelled? Geller or Gellar? And is it Rachel Greene or Green? I'm sure it doesn't matter, but still...it's good to know._

_Thank you for reading. Please leave a review!_


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